Unemployed

A random snippet I wrote in class from Alter, my current never-to-be-drawn comic project.



Sometimes Mikhail wondered how many people he had killed.

He remembered the first; certainly. He remembered most of the one's he'd been paid to kill,m during his brief but insanely lucrative stint as the Galaxie's Greatest Assassin.

He was cold and merciless and deadly; he also had a kitten named (for reasons best unknown) Ashtray but that was soooo beside the point.

"So Ashtray," he said one day in rapid-fire Russian "I was thinking of finding another job."

Ashtray, as usual, said nothing, merely gazing at Mikhail with mad, sage-green eyes.

"I am tired of killing for money. Takes all the fun out of it."

Pet me, Ashtray said with a pointed meow. Damn you, PET ME.

"You are useless, Ashtray. Sometimes I am wishing I had friends."

Pet me, you murdering Rusky fuck!

"But what else can I do? What else do I know?"

I HATE YOUR IDLE HANDS!

"You are right, my tiny friend. I need a fresh perspective."

DIE, said Ashtray, sinking tiny dagger claws into the impermeable nanomaterial of Mikhail's trousers. DIE. In a FIRE. That I START.

"I love you, tiny friend."